There have been many memorable moments on this trip. Dancing the night away at the wedding of a complete stranger in Westport, Ireland. Watching the sun slowly set over the Aran Islands in Doolin with Hanne. Walking down the Pembrokeshire coast with Kim. Riding through Devon with Charlotte. Climbing with Patrick in Monaco. Slacklining in Frankfurt with Stefan. Cycling along the Isar with Martin. Sneaking into Pompeii with Baris. Getting scrubbed by half-naked Turks in a hamam with Cathy.
Yesterday added a new memory to new beautiful memory to this list of moments.
An afternoon in Buyukada with Akif.
I didn’t have high expectations for Monday. It was my day off, so I figured I’d spend it working on my personal projects -- catching up on my blog, studying thai massage and practicing handstands/headstands/shoulderstands (I generally just like being upside down).
These days aren’t exciting, but they’re so important for my mental/emotional health. They keep me grounded, confident and lend continuity to chaos. No matter where I am, I can write. No matter where I am, I can practice yoga. Even when I’m struggling with teaching English or gardening or herding alpacas, I can always feel good here. With my laptop, my thoughts and blogger.com. And yoga. These are mine.
Akif was in the shower when I returned to the flat at 12:30. The remains of tahini mixed with grape molasses and bread were on the kitchen counter and the extra mattress was still sprawled out on the living room floor.
So. He just woke up, ate breakfast and hopped in the shower. He’s really enjoying his vacation.
I prepared myself an Aimee style Turkish breakfast (which involves all the ingredients tossed into a skillet together... minus the bread). As I was washing down the final bites with some lemon tea, a newly showered Akif walked in.
“I meet with friends tomorrow. Would you like go islands today?”
“Buyukada? I don’t know... last time I went, the weather was just so bad. And the ferry was cancelled and I was stranded in Kartal.”
“Weather is good today.”
“When will we be back?” I asked uncertainly.
“Six o’clock.”
“Okay. Sounds wonderful,” I gave in.
So we laced up our boots and took the metro to the tram to the ferry.
“We might have to wait a long time,” I warned the perpetually happy Akif. “It doesn’t run very often – but Kabatas is nice, so we can just wait in a café if we’re too early.”
We hurried to the dock to check the time of the next departure to the islands.
14:00.
“Wait!” I looked at my watch. “It’s 14:00 right now. Did we miss it?”
The ferry’s engine was revving. The glass doors were closing. We swiftly swiped our cards and ran towards our boat, glass doors sliding shut behind us. We crossed the gangplank and the ferry started cutting through the sea five seconds later.
“We are lucky,” Akif commented.
“Yes, that was perfect,” I elatedly replied.
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| Akif. This man has a beautifully peaceful personality. |
The rest of the followed in perfection's footsteps. Akif purchased simit for a lira and we tossed pieces to the squawking, ungrateful gulls. I drank hot tea and Akif drank cold soda. We basked in the sunshine as the sea breeze brushed our faces.
“Cathy will be so mad when she reads my post about today,” I commented as I cradled my cup of tea, doing my best to open up all my senses to absorb all the sensations of that sublime moment.
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| Some odd buildings Cathy and I couldn't quite figure out on our last trip. |
“Do you know the Turkish word for island?” Akif asked as we swept across the sea.
“No, what is it?”
“Ada. It is the name of many girls in Turkey. Ada.”
“It’s a pretty name. Buyukada. Big Island.”
“Yes.”
We arrived at Buyukada at half past three.
“Wait,” I said as Akif strolled excitedly out of the station. “Let’s check the schedule so we know when to be back.”
“This one?” he pointed to the line that read 17:20. “We will have two hours?”
“That’s great. A good amount of time on Buyukada.”
“Can we start with a cold beer?” Akif said, looking 100% pleased with life.
“I’m allergic to beer,” I hated to say anything remotely negative, “but I’d be happy to drink something else. Wine?”
“Tamam, okay.”
A zephyr stirred through the small square, carrying the aroma of waffles and kebap. The afternoon sun glinted off the stained glass window of the ottoman style station. The salty smell of the sea filled my nostrils. The sounds of bicycles and horses and people ordering ice cream filled my ears.
Bliss.
“This is where I had drink year before,” Akif led the way to a seaside restaurant. We drank a glass of wine and talked about the virtues of various drinks and how religion is infiltrating Turkish politics. Probably not the most pleasant conversation for the afternoon, but nothing could bring us down in the face of such consummate beauty.
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| The Turkish flag has the moon and a star on a red field (Ataturk isn't on most flags). I used to think that the moon had something to do with Islam, but Akif corrected this assumption today. "It is the light of the moon and the stars reflecting on Turkish blood." "That's very poetic and emotional," I noted. "Fits with what I know of Turkey." |
Feeling ever so slightly tipsy (on my end, anyway), we walked over to a bike shop and rented two bicycles for an hour. We raced up and down hills for twenty minutes, fighting with clunky gears and dodging carriages. At the top of a particularly steep hill, we parked our bikes and ambled into the trees to enjoy the view.
“You know what I haven’t done in THREE MONTHS?” I turned suddenly on the startled Akif.
“What?”
“I have not laid in the grass for THREE MONTHS.”
I promptly threw myself onto the stubbly winter grass.
"That is the best idea,” Akif settled down next to me. “Can you sing a song?” he continued after a few moments of watching the sun’s dying rays pierce through the trees.
“I only know musical theatre.”
“It’s okay.”
“Umm...” I took a deep breath and sang a soft, sad piece I’d learned with my voice teacher in university four years ago.
“10 out of 10, Aimee.”
“Thanks,” warmth washed across my body as I lay on the cold grass. “What time is it?”
Akif showed me his phone. 17:00. We had twenty minutes to get back.
“Now we will have to race,” he joked.
“Let’s hope we are just as lucky this time,” I laughed as I hopped on my rickety bike.
We sped back to the port, huffing up hills and gliding down.
This is what I love.
We had enough time to put more money on our cards AND to buy a bag of roasted chestnuts. The ferry was NOT cancelled on the ride back was spectacular.
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| Simit? |
Whenever I feel depressed or discouraged, these are the moments I ought to remember. What an exciting, surprising, spectacular life I’ve found and forged.
My stomach gurgled in happy agreement.
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